


John ==> Find Out How Much He’s Hurting

by fonduaunoir



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonduaunoir/pseuds/fonduaunoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Egbert finds his way to his childhood friend Karkat Vantas' house for a day of catching up, he discovers a sad secret about his once best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John ==> Find Out How Much He’s Hurting

It had been a while since you last visited your childhood friend Karkat Vantas. Hell, it had been years since you had hung out with him. You had been flying high in high school so far, it had been a great few years. You made the track team, made some fantastic friends, partied like it was the last night of your life, and it was great. You didn’t see Karkat very often anymore, as you both had different classes.

You bet anything he had gone into creative writing; he had always loved to write. He would hand his little stories off to you and you would read them, handing them back and offering him praise. He loved it, and you wouldn’t trade that smile for anything. You yourself had gone into the field of sports. Running, just like Dave had suggested once upon a time.

Occasionally you would pass each other in the hallways, and you would yell out. He never did much other than raise his head and flip you off. You chuckled at the memory as you checked the directions on your sheet. You had sent him an email last Monday, telling him that you would be popping over. He had responded with a terse, “Yeah, sure, do whatever the fuck you want.” And his address. Good old Karkat. You couldn’t wait to see him.

You turned into the driveway of the old house that you remembered from your elementary years when you used to play pretend in the backyard. Getting out of the car you walked up to the stoop, burying your nose in fabric of your letterman to avoid the cold winter air. You rang the doorbell and hopped from foot to foot. Not hearing anything, you rang it again. You heard a thump in side and a loud curse.

“Hold your fucking horses, Jesus dicks I’m coming!” Oh wow, his voice had gotten deeper. You laughed. There was more thumping inside until finally he reached the door and pulled it open, looking disgruntled.

“What do you want asswipe. If you’re selling something I don’t wa-” he stopped and squinted at you in the fading light. “John?” He asked curiously. You giggled and pulled your nose out of your jacket.

“Heya Karkat!” You said offering him a warm smile, still hopping from foot to foot. “Seems like you haven’t changed a bit.” He glared at you halfheartedly, and snorted.

“Neither have you, you annoying fucker. What are you doing here?” He asked curiously.

“I told you I was coming, remember?” Jesus dicks it was cold out here. It seemed like he finally realized the cold weather.

“Oh, fuck, sorry. Come on in,” he stepped out of the doorway and let you in, closing the door roughly behind you as you kicked off your shoes.

“Make yourself at home I guess. It’s the same old shit hole.” You laughed as he leaned against the door, studying you as you took in the house. Nothing had changed, you weren’t surprised.

“Hehe, no kidding. Your parents home?” You asked, noticing there was only your tennis shoes to join his ratty old sneakers on the mat. You looked up and saw him tense.

“That hasn’t changed either.” He said tersely.

“Oh…” You chewed your lip awkwardly. Deciding to change the subject you walked into the living room and flopped down on the couch, noticing the old game console on the table.

“Oh my god, blast from the past huh?” You said as you admired the Nintendo 64.

“That shit is classic John, and I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.” Karkat replied, flopping down on the love seat catty corner to you, still eyeing you curiously.

“Wanna go a few rounds?” You say, flashing a wide grin at the brunette. He rolls his eyes.

“You’ve literally not even been here for five minutes, and you’re already asking for an ass kicking.” Karkat snorts half heatedly. “Same old John.” He shook his head, and you noticed the bags under his eyes. They got a hell of a lot darker since you saw him last.

“That a yes?” You inquire, goading him on. The darker brunette made a sound of disgust and stood up, taking the console off the table and looking behind the TV for the chords.

“Awesome!” You say as he goes to plug it in, further studying him. When he’s done, he flops down next to you on the couch and hurls a controller at you.

“Prepare your ass for the hardest kicking it’s ever received,” he muses as he turns the console on, the familiar logo flashing across the screen. He leans back into the couch and you notice the way his sweatshirt hangs loosely on his frame.

“Jeeze bro, you lost some weight,” you whistle. “You’re getting’ skinny.” He flinches openly at the remark.

“Well, I had to lay off the cookies at some point, didn’t I?” He shoots back defensively.

“PSA, dude. You’re in high school. You don’t have to worry about it until like, college,” you say, clicking into the game. Super smash bros, hell yes. Karkat openly looks a little uncomfortable, so you decide to lay off the subject.

“So how have you been? I haven’t seen you in forever,” you say selecting Mario as Karkat takes Yoshi.

“I’m surviving. High school hasn’t exactly been as fucking fantastic for me as it is for you.” He says, sounds angry, and maybe a bit hurt? He seems different, you can’t put your finger on it, but he gives off this nervous aurora.

“That sucks Karkat…” You say sincerely. He sighs heavily and selects the game.

“What the fuck ever man, I’m not dead yet. You ready for an ass kicking?”

You grin despite how nervous he seems.

“You wish, I’m gonna smash you.” You laugh and reacquaint yourself with the controller, remembering your old moves. He still seems hesitant, and you briefly wonder why he’s holding his cuff like that.

“Something happen to your arm,” you ask, eyeing the cuff curiously. He visibly flinches and holds onto the cuff tighter.

“‘S nothing.” He says defensively, focusing hard on the game intro, his nails digging into the fabric. You quirk your eyebrows.

“Then why are you holding the cuff like that?” You ask, and he flinches again.

“I said it’s nothing you dip wad,” he hisses. You blink.

“Um, okay then…” Thankfully the music flares as the game begins, melee mode was always your favorite. You whoop and bounce on the couch, Karkat rolling his eyes next to you.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s not till a few games later, a bunch of swearing and throwing of controllers, and threatening to shit on you that you finally found out what he was hiding under that sleeve of his.

He had let go of it sometime and changed to sitting cross legged on the couch, his ankles tucked under his legs. Something caught your eye, you hadn’t mean to look, and the red had just made you peek curiously out of the corner of your eye.

_Holy shit._

You blinked at Karkat’s wrist as he let out a few more strings of cursing.

“This game is such a fucking douchecanoe to play when you’re rusty. God why did I let yo-” he stops mid-sentence and notices you staring. His face drains of color.

You move faster than he can pull away, grabbing his arm and yanking up the sleeve and drinking in the gruesome sight before you. His arm is covered in scabbed over cuts, and they look fresh, the red irritation evident around the edges. Not a fraction of skin was spared, all of it shredded as if put through a meat grinder. Horizontal, vertical, diagonal, the whole nine yards. You felt sick.

“Karkat…” You say, your throat feeling a little thick. “Please, tell me that is not wha-“

“It’s none of your damn business John!” He practically yells, yanking the arm back and hiding it behind him. It takes you aback, and you know it was what you thought it to be.

“Karkat…” You say, watching him tense even more and stare you down daring you to say something else.

“Why would yo-” you start, trying to sound as open and non-threatening as possible.

“Why the fuck do you care?” He shouts again, starting to curl in on himself like a small hurt animal. His stare burns into you, his teeth bared slightly. You’re a little more than shocked to hear it coming from him. You’re his friend, you’ve always been his friend, of course you care.

“Because I’m your friend!” You say desperately, reaching a hand out to him. He flinches at the sentence and you don’t understand why. Jesus Christ no wonder he looked like shit. You wonder what else he’s done to himself. It makes you feel a little sick.

You never would have guessed he would be hurting this much. Enough to take a razor to his wrist and shred it like paper. The thought makes you choke up a little bit.

“Karkat…” You say quietly, your voice cracking. Your eyes burn slightly. His eyes soften slightly, ever so slightly and he uncurls a bit.

“Oh fuck, John, no.” He says as he notices you scrubbing at your eyes.

“Shit, don’t cry, I’ll kick your ass if you cry,” he isn’t bothering to hold his cuff up and you can still see all the bright red marks that decorate the pale skin. You choke slightly.

“Shit, fucking hell, Jesus, you burst into my house and want to play video games and now your crying you fucking bastard Jesus stop crying John it’s okay!” He says, his voice becoming more and more frantic and pleading as he continues.

Without really thinking you pull him into a bone crushing hug. He lets out a string of curses and struggles for a bit but you refuse to let go of him. You bury your face in his shoulder and just hang onto him.

“I’m so sorry… I didn’t… I should’ve...” You can’t get the words out, so you just hug him close. He lets you hug him, sitting stiffly on the couch. There is silence for what feels like an eternity.

“It’s not your fault,” he says in a tiny voice.

“I should’ve been there for you, I should’ve checked in with you, I should’ve…” You hug him tighter and he lets out a small sound of pain, and you notice you’ve completely pinned his hurt arm to his side. You release it with a small choked sound and apologize. “Jesus I’m so so sorry Karkat...” He looks at you, speechless. “I didn’t know you we’re hurting, you never fucking said anything,” you say almost defensively, Jesus you’re going to start sobbing. You should’ve helped him or talked to him or at least fucking noticed that-

Oh.

You suddenly have a Karkat hanging on you, his arms wrapped around you tight enough to hurt. He buries his face in your shoulder. You hug him back after the initial shock of the moment sinks in. You bury your face in his curls.

You notice he’s crying. The though only makes you sadder. Your heart aches for this poor lonely boy, who had to resort to self-harm to cope with… God knows what. You hug him close and let him ball his fists in your shirt.

The silence lasts another small eternity. Eventually, you hear his low, cracking voice.

“I’m sorry…” He says, his tone laced with guilt.

“It’s okay,” you say, trying your best to sound comforting. “I just… Jesus why would you do that to yourself…” You ask quietly in awe of the horrid situation. He takes a deep breath and sighs brokenly.

“I just… Shit got hard… And I’m completely fucking alone, and I’m a freak and I’m useless and no one gives a shit if I live or die and it just fucking hurts okay. It’s hurts a lot.” He’s almost sobbing by the end of it, and your heart is fucking aching.

“Karkat,” you say, stroking his hair gently. “You’re not alone. You should’ve said something. To Jade, to Sollux, to me, Jesus we care about you so much. Of course we fucking care!” He grips your shirt tighter.

“Just because we got busy with other things doesn’t mean we don’t care. Jesus… Why didn’t you say something…” You ask, petting his hair gently, trying to coax him out of your shirt.

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to bother you…” He says quietly.

“Asking for help wouldn’t have been bothering us.” You reply.

“I just…” His voice cracked with a sob as he buried his face deeper in your shirt.

You shoosh him gently and wrap your arms around his torso, letting him cry on you. You stroke a hand through his shirt as he sobs.

You wonder how long he’s been. Suffering in silence under the cover of a frown and a baggy sweatshirt. You took a deep breath and made sure your voice would be gently.

“Can I um… Can I see again?” You said, biting your lip. Karkat, who had managed to piece himself together leaned back and looked curiously at you. He sighed and pulled up with cuff, holding it so it was in your view. Your breath hitches and you gingerly reach out to pull his arm closer. He flinches at your touch.

“Sorry,” you say abruptly.

“It’s fine John,” he says, and he sounds so tired. “I’m just not used to people touching them.” He avoids your blue eyed gaze as you look at him. You go back to his arm.

“Um… You know… A couple of those should probably get stitches if they’re gaping like that. But I suppose you can’t if they’re older than 8 hours…” You say quietly. He flinches again and closes his eyes.

“It’s too late then. And besides, who the fuck would take me to get the damn things?” You remember that he practically has no parents, and you sigh.

“Well… Do you at least have any butterfly band aids?” You say, chewing your lip. You look up at Karkat when you don’t get a response and see that he’s staring at you with a quizzical expression.

“I mean if you don’t have any that’s fine, it’s just that I you don’t keep them closed you’ll get really bad scars and…” His eyes are glazed over as he stares at his arm.

“…Karkat?” You say and he perks up.

“Sorry,” he says rather quietly. “I’m just not used to this kind of treatment,” he finishes. “‘S fuckin’ weird. No one gives a shit about me and all of a sudden I have you coming in here like you own the place and finding me out and fucking boom. Friends again. It’s trippy shit.” He chuckles, but there’s no happiness in it. It’s dry and sad and broken.

"You don’t actually believe we stopped caring, do you?” You ask, your tone laced with disbelief.

“I didn’t hear from any of you for what, three fuckin’ years practically, and people got pretty damn mean John,” he eyes you suspiciously. “Hell for all I know you have ulterior motives and are just fucking with me. So yeah John. I did. I thought you fuckers got on with your grade a lives and left me in the dirt because I’m a burden. I’m annoying. I’m not blind you know!" By the end of the speech his teeth were gritted.

“Karkat…” You say softly. You want nothing more to pull him into another hug. He’s shaking, and you take his hand.

“You don’t know what it’s like John,” he says, his voice cracking. “You don’t know what it’s like to be at the center of the whispers and al the shit of high school. To be pushed and shoved and fucking spit on the hallways. It hurts, it hurts like a fucking bitch. And when no one is there for you,” he’s shaking and it takes all of your self-control to not pull him back in your arms.

“It hurts so much more when no one is there to tell you the rumors are wrong. When you have no one to tell you that they want you and that they need you and the rumors are wrong. It hurts! And eventually you start to believe them!” He’s crying again, and you lose your resolve, snatching up the bundle of sobbing Karkat and holding him close to you again. You rock him as he cries and shoosh him.

“Karkat. It’s okay. It’s okay,” as much as you know it’s not, you tell him anyway. You hold him until he stops crying. God knows how much times has passed. Your legs have long since fallen asleep.

“Karkat…?” You say gently, brushing some of the brown hair out of his face. His brown eyes are closed and his face is red and puffy.

He’s asleep.

You smile and pick him up, he weighs practically nothing, and you set him back down on the couch. You scramble around and eventually find some paper and a pencil; you write a note, leaving it on the coffee table for him when he wakes up.

_Karkat, you were never alone, and you won’t ever have to feel that way again. I promise._

_612-239-6993_   
_John Egbert_

_P.S. I left you some cocoa mix in the kitchen, brought some with me when I came over. It’s good with milk._

You smile and let yourself out quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> Really bad characterization.
> 
> I can't write Karkat. 
> 
> Insults are hard.
> 
> I tried.


End file.
